Chapter Forty-Four
Isabella
“Don’t move,” Carter hums, still pinning me to the wall.
Every little flinch, shrug, and push I offer is met with his harsh grip. He keeps my wrists pinned to my sides and groans, irritated when I even make the slightest of adjustments.
My back is sore, and we’ve been standing like this for half an hour. I want to push him off me and run all the way home, or at least make it downstairs while my stomach is still growling in hunger, but nothing seems to work against Carter.
“Will you just explain then?” I ask, whimpering in surrender. “I am so embarrassed, Carter. Why would you do this to me? Why do I work for you? Is it just because I look like—”
“Don’t,” Carter snarls through his clenched, tight jaw. “Don’t you dare say that name again.”
“I have every right to,” I breathe, half-confident. “You tote me in front of your family because… because I look like Brooke?”
His hold is tighter now, almost painful, and I whimper in hopes of submitting a little guilt into his mind. Maybe he will relax his grip, but he doesn’t even attempt to do any such thing.
“I said to never speak of that name again, dove.”
“You owe me an explanation.”
He presses his hands into my waist and slams my back against the wall. I hiccup in mostly shock and a little bit of pain. I’m frustrated, too, which doesn’t help, but Carter is so much bigger than me that it’s not quite fair that he has so much power over me.
Over my body as well.
His hands slide to my shoulders, steadying a grip against the sides of my neck, where he brings his lips right against the structure of my ear. His voice is smooth, his warm exhales almost calming if I didn’t know any better.
“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Bella,” he growls in a breathy whisper. “I saved your ass from Jacob Lacey and his ugly fucking father. Without me, your virginity would belong to your old boss. If you think for a second that I owe you a damn thing, then…”
He stops speaking, his cold eyes caressing my tear-speckled cheek. His hands come off my shoulders, and to my dismay, he steps back a few paces. I watch his every inhale, his calm, freezing-cold demeanor, and it doesn’t make any sense to me.
I can’t understand how a man like this is so detached from normalcy that it just doesn’t even seem like he’s human anymore. The faraway look in his eyes and the cold, unforgiving snare of his disposition.
“Go,” he whispers at last. “Get out of here, dove.”
I take a single step forward, studying his large, broad stance that overwhelms me. “I don’t want to leave, Carter… I just… I want you to tell me what is going on—”
“There is nothing going on,” he barks, his tone furious and not at me specifically, but surely over this situation and, perhaps, even his aunt. “You started working for Jacob Lacey of your own volition, right?”
I nod, answering meekly, “Yeah, about seven months ago.”
“And then you were the one who put yourself in the position to piss off that greedy jackass, right? You took money from his office, and he retaliated. Am I correct again?”
“Yes, Carter, that’s right… but I don’t understand how that pertains to—”
“I walked into the office on that first night when you were on your knees and again when he had you pinned against his desk, Bella. That doesn’t mean that I planned some grand fucking scheme to bring you into my life, right? I didn’t even know you before I met you in that office. How is that malicious?”
I can’t help but let my eyes fall on the photo on the windowsill. “I don’t know. It’s just ironic that—”
“Yes, ironic,” he cuts in, coming forward, so we’re practically against one another again. “It’s a fucking ironic thing to happen, isn’t it? I didn’t find you online or come seeking you out. I ran into you in his office, and I stepped in because what he was doing to you was wrong, dove.”
I can only shiver under his heavy, warm glare. “I know that. I can’t thank you enough for helping me, Carter. It just makes me uncomfortable to see her photo and think that you were helping me only because… well, because I look a lot like Brooke Blackthorne.”
He shakes his head, his palm landing gently against my jaw. I feel small in his hold, in his warm, strong hand, and if we weren’t arguing right now, I might sink into him completely.
Being held by Carter Blackthorne is only comparable to being held by a king.
“Sweet Bella,” he hums, his voice unlike any softness I’ve ever heard from him prior. “Do you know how crazy that sounds? To think that I set all of this up somehow isn’t just ironic. It’s astronomically impossible.”
I try to think over the times in Jacob’s office when Carter barged in, saving me both times from having to service my terrible boss at the time. Carter didn’t even know my name those times, let alone could have known when and where to be once Jacob was planning to hurt me.
The entire mess of this situation makes me sick, and the fact I haven’t eaten doesn’t help. I stammer back a few steps, tripping over myself and falling backward into the beautiful bed. I curl into a pathetic ball and simply tuck my blushing face into my arms.
“Come on, dove,” Carter hums, kneeling directly next to the bedside. He tucks my hair behind my ear as an excuse to graze my tear-stricken cheeks. “Let’s just forget all of this. We can go downstairs and meander around the cake and the festivities.”
I look down at my short dress, still wearing the same clothes from the restaurant where we met with Donovan last night. As much as I would love to sit among the wealthy Blackthorne family in the Bronx, I don’t think I can do much else without sleep and a shower… and a new change of clothes.
Carter must realize that and glances around the bedroom in this tower, fit for a princess.
“How about you eat a little bit and take a long nap in this bed. And if you want, there’s a bathtub in the ensuite you can clean up in.”
I run my fingers along the slightly frayed hem of my dress. “What about clothes, Carter? I don’t think this is appropriate anymore.”
He licks his lips briefly, a notion I can identify instantly, no matter how quick it is. “True. I’m sure there’s something around this house you can have. My aunt is the catchall for the family, and everyone has a bedroom here to crash in from time to time. She can hunt for something in your size.”
At that, I stand, taking Carter’s hand and returning downstairs. I thought that Carter mentioning the burning food was a tactic to clear his aunt from the tower, but as we come into the kitchen, there’s a faint trail of smoke settling near the ceiling.
Aunt Anita is already flustered, working on cutting into the pasta dish that is more burnt than not.
She gives her nephew a weary look, and he sets off for the back porch, simply leaving me in the kitchen with the impression of his lips on my cheek.
“I’m sorry if I caused problems, doll-face. I didn’t know there was anything you didn’t know about Brooke.” She leans on the kitchen counter, looking over me like she is admiring an old friend. “I hope I didn’t upset you too much.”
“No, not at all,” I semi-lie. “I’m just a little confused. You mentioned that she died or something. Can you explain that to me?”
Almost instantly, her eyes find the back porch, snaking through the crowd of relatives who perch under heat lamps and talk through thick cigars. She only shakes her head, going back to working on the dish she scalded with too much heat.
“I can’t talk about that, Isabella. I think I’ve said enough for today. My nephew is… well, he’s got a temper. I don’t want to make him mad with my nonsensical rambling.”
I come closer to the short stature of a woman who obviously grew up in wealth. Her face is tight with only a few wrinkles not affected by a needle prick yet but possibly, very soon.
Her jaded eyes scan over me as though I look like I may fight the information out of her. Which I won’t—at least, I don’t think I will. But I want to know everything Carter hasn’t told me.
“Did Carter love Brooke?”
Her eyes widen, and she sinks down, forcing all her focus on the lunch she made for me. “I really can salvage this dish. If I just remove the top layer, I think the rest of it is fine and cooked well. I had the oven on top heat, and that’s got to be the issue here. I should have instead turned the oven to heat all—”
“Please,” I pant. “Tell me the truth. I just want to know a little more.”
She bites her lip and refuses to look at me at all now. “Yes. We all knew he did.”
My heart sinks somewhat. “And Brooke. Did she love him back?”
She sets down the utensils meant to fix the dish she ruined. “I think so, doll-face. But she made some wrong choices. She never got the chance to tell him that. She never—”
Aunt Anita sniffles, wiping her damp, makeup-pampered eyes.
I rest my hand over hers, trying to relax her—and myself—in this weird swirl of understanding. I don’t know all the secrets of Carter yet, but I know enough for now to understand that I don’t want to talk about it anymore today.
She cuts me a slice of the dish and hands me a beautiful crystal plate. I watch as she disappears into the nearest bathroom, to compose herself most likely, while I sit alone at the large mahogany dining table.
Seeing all the chairs at this single table is baffling to me. I come from a small family, a dysfunctional one at most times, and the only real family left for me to have a lavish dinner with in our family home is my father.
That is out of the picture now.
I eat alone, which is more familiar to me, and I make it a point to wash my dishes and put them away when I’m done. I feel Carter’s eyes on my back, along with several unidentifiable pairs, and escape up the tall tower that leads to the lone bedroom.
My stomach is full and hurts, and although I’m exhausted after only briefly getting to nap in the backseat of Carter’s SUV this morning, I can’t imagine sleeping right now.
I escape to the bathroom, admiring the large jacuzzi bathtub with jets and candles left out around the rim. I lean against the tub, watching the water fill slowly, the steam rising and kissing my bare skin.
Once I settle into the hot water, I hear light steps coming into the bedroom. I sink under the surface of the bubble-covered water and come back up, feeling a set of soft, needy lips settle against mine.
“Why didn’t you invite me in?” Carter hums.
I wipe the water from my eyes and admire his already naked, beautiful body. “I didn’t think you needed an invitation. This is your family estate, so it is your bathtub, then.”
“I never really stayed here,” he admits, slipping into the water behind me. “My whole family always sought refuge here if we ever needed a break from reality.”
“You never needed a break from it?”
“From reality?” he purrs, holding me to his chest, in his comfortable lap, and urging me to rest back into his chest and arms like a cage I never want to leave. “I never really needed a break from reality, dove. I think I just needed a break from myself.”
“How did you do that?”
His eyes are off in the distance, his mind somewhere wandering aimlessly. His arms tighten around my hips, and he kisses the back of my head.
In some odd, rhetorical sort of way, I can tell he’s thinking about Brooke.
I never knew her, nor do I even know much about their connection to one another and how that dynamic even works, being that they’re stepsiblings, but I can see it now in his cold, shut-down realm of thought.
“She was your break, wasn’t she?”
The muscles in his body all tighten, especially those in his jaw and throat when I glance up at his position behind me. He is beautiful and angry… yet somehow easier to read now.